1. ___Excerpted, and footnote added, by the National Humanities Center
for use in a Standards-Based Professional Development Seminar___
___Ralph Waldo Emerson___
SELF-RELIANCE
1841
___Excerpts___
[Beginning of essay]
“Ne te quæsiveris extra.”*
_____________________________
“Man is his own star; and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man,
Commands all light, all influence, all fate;
Nothing to him falls early or too late.
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.”
10 Epilogue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Honest Man's Fortune
________________________________________
Cast the bantling on the rocks,
Suckle him with the she-wolf's teat;
Wintered with the hawk and fox,
Power and speed be hands and feet.
I read the other day some verses written by an eminent painter which were original and not
conventional. The soul always hears an admonition in such lines, let the subject be what it may.
20 The sentiment they instill is of more value than any thought they may contain. To believe your
own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men,—that is
genius. Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the inmost in due
time becomes the outmost,—and our first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the
Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to
Moses, Plato, and Milton is, that they set at naught books and traditions, and spoke not what men
but what they thought. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes
across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he
dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our
*
“Rely only on yourself.” Persius, Satires, I, 7 (1st century A.D.).

2. own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art
30 have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous
impression with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the
other side. Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have
thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from
another. . . .
Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine
providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events.
Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age,
betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working
through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now men, and must accept in
40 the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected
corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers, and benefactors, obeying
the Almighty effort, and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.
What pretty oracles nature yields us on this text, in the face and behaviour of children,
babes, and even brutes! That divided and rebel mind, that distrust of a sentiment because our
arithmetic has computed the strength and means opposed to our purpose, these have not. Their
mind being whole, their eye is as yet unconquered, and when we look in their faces, we are
disconcerted. Infancy conforms to nobody: all conform to it, so that one babe commonly makes
four or five out of the adults who prattle and play to it. So God has armed youth and puberty and
manhood no less with its own piquancy and charm, and made it enviable and gracious and its
50 claims not to be put by, if it will stand by itself. Do not think the youth has no force, because he
cannot speak to you and me. Hark! in the next room his voice is sufficiently clear and emphatic.
It seems he knows how to speak to his contemporaries. Bashful or bold, then, he will know how
to make us seniors very unnecessary.
The nonchalance of boys who are sure of a dinner, and would disdain as much as a lord
to do or say aught to conciliate one, is the healthy attitude of human nature. A boy is in the
parlour what the pit is in the playhouse; independent, irresponsible, looking out from his corner
on such people and facts as pass by, he tries and sentences them on their merits, in the swift,
summary way of boys, as good, bad, interesting, silly, eloquent, troublesome. He cumbers
himself never about consequences, about interests: he gives an independent, genuine verdict.
60 You must court him: he does not court you. But the man is, as it were, clapped into jail by his
2

3. consciousness. As soon as he has once acted or spoken with eclat, he is a committed person,
watched by the sympathy or the hatred of hundreds, whose affections must now enter into his
account. There is no Lethe for this. Ah, that he could pass again into his neutrality! Who can thus
avoid all pledges, and having observed, observe again from the same unaffected, unbiased,
unbribable, unaffrighted innocence, must always be formidable. He would utter opinions on all
passing affairs, which being seen to be not private, but necessary, would sink like darts into the
ear of men, and put them in fear.
These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we
enter into the world. Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its
70 members. Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing
of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in
most request is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but
names and customs.
Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist. He who would gather immortal palms
must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it be goodness. Nothing is at
last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the
suffrage of the world. I remember an answer which when quite young I was prompted to make to
a valued adviser, who was wont to importune me with the dear old doctrines of the church. On
my saying, What have I to do with the sacredness of traditions, if I live wholly from within? my
80 friend suggested,—“But these impulses may be from below, not from above.” I replied, “They
do not seem to me to be such; but if I am the Devil's child, I will live then from the Devil.” No
law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but names very readily
transferable to that or this; the only right is what is after my constitution, the only wrong what is
against it. A man is to carry himself in the presence of all opposition, as if every thing were
titular and ephemeral but he. I am ashamed to think how easily we capitulate to badges and
names, to large societies and dead institutions. Every decent and well-spoken individual affects
and sways me more than is right. I ought to go upright and vital, and speak the rude truth in all
ways. If malice and vanity wear the coat of philanthropy, shall that pass? If an angry bigot
assumes this bountiful cause of Abolition, and comes to me with his last news from Barbadoes,
90 why should I not say to him, ‘Go love thy infant; love thy wood-chopper: be good-natured and
modest: have that grace; and never varnish your hard, uncharitable ambition with this incredible
tenderness for black folk a thousand miles off. Thy love afar is spite at home.’ Rough and
3

4. graceless would be such greeting, but truth is handsomer than the affectation of love. Your
goodness must have some edge to it,—else it is none. The doctrine of hatred must be preached as
the counteraction of the doctrine of love when that pules and whines. I shun father and mother
and wife and brother, when my genius calls me. I would write on the lintels of the door-post,
Whim. I hope it is somewhat better than whim at last, but we cannot spend the day in
explanation. Expect me not to show cause why I seek or why I exclude company. Then, again,
do not tell me, as a good man did to-day, of my obligation to put all poor men in good situations.
100 Are they my poor? I tell thee, thou foolish philanthropist, that I grudge the dollar, the dime, the
cent, I give to such men as do not belong to me and to whom I do not belong. There is a class of
persons to whom by all spiritual affinity I am bought and sold; for them I will go to prison, if
need be; but your miscellaneous popular charities; the education at college of fools; the building
of meeting-houses to the vain end to which many now stand; alms to sots; and the thousandfold
Relief Societies;—though I confess with shame I sometimes succumb and give the dollar, it is a
wicked dollar which by and by I shall have the manhood to withhold.
Virtues are, in the popular estimate, rather the exception than the rule. There is the man
and his virtues. Men do what is called a good action, as some piece of courage or charity, much
as they would pay a fine in expiation of daily non-appearance on parade. Their works are done as
110 an apology or extenuation of their living in the world,—as invalids and the insane pay a high
board. Their virtues are penances. I do not wish to expiate, but to live. My life is for itself and
not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it should be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal,
than that it should be glittering and unsteady. I wish it to be sound and sweet, and not to need
diet and bleeding. I ask primary evidence that you are a man, and refuse this appeal from the man
to his actions. I know that for myself it makes no difference whether I do or forbear those actions
which are reckoned excellent. I cannot consent to pay for a privilege where I have intrinsic right.
Few and mean as my gifts may be, I actually am, and do not need for my own assurance or the
assurance of my fellows any secondary testimony.
What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally
120 arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness
and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is
your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is
easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd
keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.
4

5. The objection to conforming to usages that have become dead to you is, that it scatters
your force. It loses your time and blurs the impression of your character. If you maintain a dead
church, contribute to a dead Bible-society, vote with a great party either for the government or
against it, spread your table like base housekeepers,—under all these screens I have difficulty to
detect the precise man you are. And, of course, so much force is withdrawn from your proper
130 life. But do your work, and I shall know you. Do your work, and you shall reinforce yourself. A
man must consider what a blindman's-buff is this game of conformity. If I know your sect, I
anticipate your argument. I hear a preacher announce for his text and topic the expediency of one
of the institutions of his church. Do I not know beforehand that not possibly can he say a new
and spontaneous word? Do I not know that, with all this ostentation of examining the grounds of
the institution, he will do no such thing? Do I not know that he is pledged to himself not to look
but at one side,—the permitted side, not as a man, but as a parish minister? He is a retained
attorney, and these airs of the bench are the emptiest affectation. Well, most men have bound
their eyes with one or another handkerchief, and attached themselves to some one of these
communities of opinion. This conformity makes them not false in a few particulars, authors of a
140 few lies, but false in all particulars. Their every truth is not quite true. Their two is not the real
two, their four not the real four; so that every word they say chagrins us, and we know not where
to begin to set them right. Meantime nature is not slow to equip us in the prison-uniform of the
party to which we adhere. We come to wear one cut of face and figure, and acquire by degrees
the gentlest asinine expression. There is a mortifying experience in particular, which does not fail
to wreak itself also in the general history; I mean “the foolish face of praise,” the forced smile
which we put on in company where we do not feel at ease in answer to conversation which does
not interest us. The muscles, not spontaneously moved, but moved by a low usurping wilfulness,
grow tight about the outline of the face with the most disagreeable sensation.
For nonconformity the world whips you with its displeasure. And therefore a man must
150 know how to estimate a sour face. The by-standers look askance on him in the public street or in
the friend's parlour. If this aversation had its origin in contempt and resistance like his own, he
might well go home with a sad countenance; but the sour faces of the multitude, like their sweet
faces, have no deep cause, but are put on and off as the wind blows and a newspaper directs. Yet
is the discontent of the multitude more formidable than that of the senate and the college. It is
easy enough for a firm man who knows the world to brook the rage of the cultivated classes.
Their rage is decorous and prudent, for they are timid as being very vulnerable themselves. But
5

6. when to their feminine rage the indignation of the people is added, when the ignorant and the
poor are aroused, when the unintelligent brute force that lies at the bottom of society is made to
growl and mow, it needs the habit of magnanimity and religion to treat it godlike as a trifle of no
160 concernment.
The other terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency; a reverence for our past
act or word, because the eyes of others have no other data for computing our orbit than our past
acts, and we are loath to disappoint them.
But why should you keep your head over your shoulder? Why drag about this corpse of
your memory, lest you contradict somewhat you have stated in this or that public place? Suppose
you should contradict yourself; what then? It seems to be a rule of wisdom never to rely on your
memory alone, scarcely even in acts of pure memory, but to bring the past for judgment into the
thousand-eyed present, and live ever in a new day. In your metaphysics you have denied
personality to the Deity: yet when the devout motions of the soul come, yield to them heart and
170 life, though they should clothe God with shape and color. Leave your theory, as Joseph his coat
in the hand of the harlot, and flee.
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and
philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as
well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and
to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing
you said to-day.—‘Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.’—Is it so bad, then, to be
misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and
Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be
great is to be misunderstood. . . .
180 The relations of the soul to the divine spirit are so pure, that it is profane to seek to
interpose helps. It must be that when God speaketh he should communicate, not one thing, but all
things; should fill the world with his voice; should scatter forth light, nature, time, souls, from
the centre of the present thought; and new date and new create the whole. Whenever a mind is
simple, and receives a divine wisdom, old things pass away,—means, teachers, texts, temples
fall; it lives now, and absorbs past and future into the present hour. All things are made sacred by
relation to it,—one as much as another. All things are dissolved to their centre by their cause,
and, in the universal miracle, petty and particular miracles disappear. If, therefore, a man claims
to know and speak of God, and carries you backward to the phraseology of some old mouldered
6

7. nation in another country, in another world, believe him not. Is the acorn better than the oak
190 which is its fullness and completion? Is the parent better than the child into whom he has cast his
ripened being? Whence, then, this worship of the past? The centuries are conspirators against the
sanity and authority of the soul. Time and space are but physiological colors which the eye
makes, but the soul is light; where it is, is day; where it was, is night; and history is an
impertinence and an injury, if it be any thing more than a cheerful apologue or parable of my
being and becoming.
Man is timid and apologetic; he is no longer upright; he dares not say ‘I think,’ ‘I am,’
but quotes some saint or sage. He is ashamed before the blade of grass or the blowing rose.
These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for
what they are; they exist with God to-day. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is
200 perfect in every moment of its existence. Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the
full-blown flower there is no more; in the leafless root there is no less. Its nature is satisfied, and
it satisfies nature, in all moments alike. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the
present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him,
stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with
nature in the present, above time.
This should be plain enough. Yet see what strong intellects dare not yet hear God
himself, unless he speak the phraseology of I know not what David, or Jeremiah, or Paul. We
shall not always set so great a price on a few texts, on a few lives. We are like children who
repeat by rote the sentences of grandames and tutors, and, as they grow older, of the men of
210 talents and character they chance to see,—painfully recollecting the exact words they spoke;
afterwards, when they come into the point of view which those had who uttered these sayings,
they understand them, and are willing to let the words go; for, at any time, they can use words as
good when occasion comes. If we live truly, we shall see truly. It is as easy for the strong man to
be strong, as it is for the weak to be weak. When we have new perception, we shall gladly
disburden the memory of its hoarded treasures as old rubbish. When a man lives with God, his
voice shall be as sweet as the murmur of the brook and the rustle of the corn.
And now at last the highest truth on this subject remains unsaid; probably cannot be said;
for all that we say is the far-off remembering of the intuition. That thought, by what I can now
nearest approach to say it, is this. When good is near you, when you have life in yourself, it is not
220 by any known or accustomed way; you shall not discern the foot-prints of any other; you shall
7

8. not see the face of man; you shall not hear any name;—the way, the thought, the good, shall be
wholly strange and new. It shall exclude example and experience. You take the way from man,
not to man. All persons that ever existed are its forgotten ministers. Fear and hope are alike
beneath it. There is somewhat low even in hope. In the hour of vision, there is nothing that can
be called gratitude, nor properly joy. The soul raised over passion beholds identity and eternal
causation, perceives the self-existence of Truth and Right, and calms itself with knowing that all
things go well. Vast spaces of nature, the Atlantic Ocean, the South Sea,—long intervals of time,
years, centuries,—are of no account. This which I think and feel underlay every former state of
life and circumstances, as it does underlie my present, and what is called life, and what is called
230 death.
Life only avails, not the having lived. Power ceases in the instant of repose; it resides in
the moment of transition from a past to a new state, in the shooting of the gulf, in the darting to
an aim. This one fact the world hates, that the soul becomes; for that for ever degrades the past,
turns all riches to poverty, all reputation to a shame, confounds the saint with the rogue, shoves
Jesus and Judas equally aside. Why, then, do we prate of self-reliance? Inasmuch as the soul is
present, there will be power not confident but agent. To talk of reliance is a poor external way of
speaking. Speak rather of that which relies, because it works and is. Who has more obedience
than I masters me, though he should not raise his finger. Round him I must revolve by the
gravitation of spirits. We fancy it rhetoric, when we speak of eminent virtue. We do not yet see
240 that virtue is Height, and that a man or a company of men, plastic and permeable to principles,
by the law of nature must overpower and ride all cities, nations, kings, rich men, poets, who are
not.
This is the ultimate fact which we so quickly reach on this, as on every topic, the
resolution of all into the ever-blessed ONE. Self-existence is the attribute of the Supreme Cause,
and it constitutes the measure of good by the degree in which it enters into all lower forms. All
things real are so by so much virtue as they contain. Commerce, husbandry, hunting, whaling,
war, eloquence, personal weight, are somewhat, and engage my respect as examples of its
presence and impure action. I see the same law working in nature for conservation and growth.
Power is in nature the essential measure of right. Nature suffers nothing to remain in her
250 kingdoms which cannot help itself. The genesis and maturation of a planet, its poise and orbit,
the bended tree recovering itself from the strong wind, the vital resources of every animal and
vegetable, are demonstrations of the self-sufficing, and therefore self-relying soul.
8

9. Thus all concentrates: let us not rove; let us sit at home with the cause. Let us stun and
astonish the intruding rabble of men and books and institutions, by a simple declaration of the
divine fact. Bid the invaders take the shoes from off their feet, for God is here within. Let our
simplicity judge them, and our docility to our own law demonstrate the poverty of nature and
fortune beside our native riches.
But now we are a mob. Man does not stand in awe of man, nor is his genius admonished
to stay at home, to put itself in communication with the internal ocean, but it goes abroad to beg
260 a cup of water of the urns of other men. We must go alone. I like the silent church before the
service begins, better than any preaching. How far off, how cool, how chaste the persons look,
begirt each one with a precinct or sanctuary! So let us always sit. Why should we assume the
faults of our friend, or wife, or father, or child, because they sit around our hearth, or are said to
have the same blood? All men have my blood, and I have all men's. Not for that will I adopt their
petulance or folly, even to the extent of being ashamed of it. But your isolation must not be
mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation. At times the whole world seems to be in
conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friend, client, child, sickness, fear, want,
charity, all knock at once at thy closet door, and say, — 'Come out unto us.' But keep thy state;
come not into their confusion. The power men possess to annoy me, I give them by a weak
270 curiosity. No man can come near me but through my act. “What we love that we have, but by
desire we bereave ourselves of the love.”
If we cannot at once rise to the sanctities of obedience and faith, let us at least resist our
temptations; let us enter into the state of war, and wake Thor and Woden, courage and constancy,
in our Saxon breasts. This is to be done in our smooth times by speaking the truth. Check this
lying hospitality and lying affection. Live no longer to the expectation of these deceived and
deceiving people with whom we converse. Say to them, O father, O mother, O wife, O brother,
O friend, I have lived with you after appearances hitherto. Henceforward I am the truth's. Be it
known unto you that henceforward I obey no law less than the eternal law. I will have no
covenants but proximities. I shall endeavour to nourish my parents, to support my family, to be
280 the chaste husband of one wife,—but these relations I must fill after a new and unprecedented
way. I appeal from your customs. I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or
you. If you can love me for what I am, we shall be the happier. If you cannot, I will still seek to
deserve that you should. I will not hide my tastes or aversions. I will so trust that what is deep is
holy, that I will do strongly before the sun and moon whatever inly rejoices me, and the heart
9

10. appoints. If you are noble, I will love you; if you are not, I will not hurt you and myself by
hypocritical attentions. If you are true, but not in the same truth with me, cleave to your
companions; I will seek my own. I do this not selfishly, but humbly and truly. It is alike your
interest, and mine, and all men's, however long we have dwelt in lies, to live in truth. Does this
sound harsh to-day? You will soon love what is dictated by your nature as well as mine, and, if
290 we follow the truth, it will bring us out safe at last.—But so you may give these friends pain.
Yes, but I cannot sell my liberty and my power, to save their sensibility. Besides, all persons
have their moments of reason, when they look out into the region of absolute truth; then will they
justify me, and do the same thing.
The populace think that your rejection of popular standards is a rejection of all standard,
and mere antinomianism; and the bold sensualist will use the name of philosophy to gild his
crimes. But the law of consciousness abides. There are two confessionals, in one or the other of
which we must be shriven. You may fulfil your round of duties by clearing yourself in the direct,
or in the reflex way. Consider whether you have satisfied your relations to father, mother, cousin,
neighbour, town, cat, and dog; whether any of these can upbraid you. But I may also neglect this
300 reflex standard, and absolve me to myself. I have my own stern claims and perfect circle. It
denies the name of duty to many offices that are called duties. But if I can discharge its debts, it
enables me to dispense with the popular code. If any one imagines that this law is lax, let him
keep its commandment one day.
And truly it demands something godlike in him who has cast off the common motives of
humanity, and has ventured to trust himself for a taskmaster. High be his heart, faithful his will,
clear his sight, that he may in good earnest be doctrine, society, law, to himself, that a simple
purpose may be to him as strong as iron necessity is to others!
[Essay continues.]
10